


you never cease to amaze me

by katebishoop



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abby is the Senator, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellamy is a tourguide, Clarke is a Senator's daughter, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4288404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katebishoop/pseuds/katebishoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy is a tour guide at the United States Capital building and Clarke is a Senator's daughter who likes to use his tours as a means to avoid her mother (and, well, ogle his ass).</p>
            </blockquote>





	you never cease to amaze me

Bellamy had first noticed her when he was giving a tour to the India Youth Ambassadors. She definitely wasn’t Indian. He hadn’t thought of it much. She was dressed in a navy blue skirt and blazer, so he figured he was one of the Pages on break. No big deal.

But then noticed her again. And again. And  _again_. Not every day, but at least two times a week that crown of blonde hair would be bobbing along with his group. He also noticed she wasn’t a Page, since her outfits ranged in different styles and colors - always business like though, never jeans or shorts like the tourists.

She was never in the group from the start; she always slipped in sometime in the rotunda. And on the special tour groups - such as the India Youth Ambassadors - when they got to sit in on a session of the Senate, she always slipped away.

Today was one of those special groups - some stuffy military school kids - and he was determined to find out who she was.

He was almost worried she wasn’t going to show - it was Thursday, and she hadn’t shown all week - but one minute he was telling the group about the designs on the ceiling, and when he looked back down at the group her familiar blonde head was right there in the back. 

Bellamy tried not to rush things after that but it was proving difficult. He kept glancing at her to make sure she hadn’t slipped away yet, and the closer they got to the Senate Chamber, the more he looked but she was still there - for now, at least.

He leads the cadets into the viewing area and hung back near the door. Now, he wasn’t supposed to leave them unattended… but this group had a solid ten minutes allotted to them  _and_  they were military brats: they should behave, right?

He hung back by the door and once they were all seated and focused on the proceedings below, he slipped back out into the hallway.

At a first glance he was worried that she was too far gone - he couldn’t stray too far from the group - but there she was, across the hall staring at one of the many marble statues.

 _This is it,_ he thought, _moment of truth._

His heart pounded as he walked over to her. He hadn’t really thought of what to say, Octavia had tried to help him but  _“why are you stalking me”_  didn’t seem like the best idea.

He stopped just behind her; she hadn’t noticed him approach. He looked her over. She was wearing the same thing she had been wearing when he first saw her - navy blue skirt and blazer, white dress shirt, burgundy tie - it looked like a Page uniform, but the crest on the jacket was one that screamed prep school.

“From the way you're always around, I may have add you to my tour,” Bellamy says and the girl jumps and turns to look at him,  _“and now we are joined by a mysterious blonde girl who occasionally lurks on my tours.”_

From the look on her face he’s almost worried he’s offended her but that all melts away when she laughs.

She’s even more beautiful up close.

“I do not  _lurk_ ,” she replies, her blue eyes searching his face.

“Oh really?” He raises an eyebrow at her, “then what would you call it then?”

She pauses, biting down on her lower lip and oh man she’s really, really cute when she does that.

“You could say that I’m fan,” she finally says, “You never cease to amaze me with your knowledge of Greco-Roman architecture.”

“I think you're more of a groupie then, considering you’ve been on at it at least, what, twenty of them?”

“Much, much more than that I’m afraid,” she laughs, “I used to sit around on the benches and sketch - the statues and busts and people - but security kept coming over, asking too many questions, being annoying, you know. They don’t bother me if they think I’m a part of one of the groups.”

The more and more he talked to this girl the more and more questions she had.

“Why mine though? It’s pretty much the same stuff every time,” he asks.

“Honestly? Your voice is by far the least  _droning_ ,” She says, and leans a little closer to whisper the next part, “and your ass is by far the best, too.”

Bellamy can feel the blush rush to his cheeks that only gets redder when she laughs.

“But really, you're the only one that seems like they actually have an interest in all this stuff.”

He’s still reeling from the ass compliment when he responds next: “Yeah. History - kind of my forte,” he sort of gruffs out as he shifts his weight onto his other foot, then he sticks out his hand, “Oh and, I’m-”

“Bellamy, I know,” she says as she takes his hand, “I’ve been on like, what, twenty plus tours, remember?” She’s got this strong, firm grip as she takes his hand, “I’m Clarke.”

Clarke. It’s fitting, it really is. He couldn’t picture her with any other name.

“So, Clarke,” the name feels even more fitting on his tongue, “Why-”

Before he can get the words out, there’s a ruckus behind him and they both turn. It’s his tour group coming back out into the hall - very, very loudly. Weren’t cadets supposed to be  _disciplined_?

“I-I-” he tries and she just gives a nod in understanding.

“Duty calls,” she says, looking in the direction of the tour group.

He looks back and forth between the group and her, before asking (praying): “You’ll be back, I hope?”

She just smiles and winks before turning on her heel and heading in the opposite direction.

The rest of the day he’s very short and borderline temperamental with the group -  _you ruin my fun, I ruin yours_.

* * *

The next day she isn’t in the group, but still, when he escorts the group to the chamber, he steps out.

And there she is, with two cups of coffee in hand, holding one out to him. He takes it from her eagerly and gives a little moan after the first sip.

“You are a life saver,” he says as they sit down on the bench beside the door, “I really need that.”

“It’s the least I could do,” she says with a smile, “For you know, mooching off your services.”

“And ogling my ass.”

“Oh, there’s better things I could do than get you coffee for that.”

He manages, oh so smoothly, to splutter coffee all down his shirt at that. She’s frantically apologizing and trying to wipe it up with her sleeve and the motion of her hand against his chest is making him flutter again.

“Now to make up for that,” he says, when they’ve given up trying to clean it, “you can tell me why you’re always here, _lurking_ about the capital.”

She gives him a wary look as she takes a sip of her drink, and he’s worried he’s upset her but she does respond, “My mom works here - she drags me along to ‘keep me out of trouble’ and ‘learn from her work’ - you know, boring stuff no teenager cares about.”

Then she turns to him, and asks: “How old are you, exactly?”

“Twenty-three,” he says.

She gives a few small nods in recognition, “So you're done with school?”

“I’m actually working towards my masters right now.”

“Let me guess, history?” he nods and she laughs, “Where?”

“American,” he says, and Clarke sucks in a breath.

“I start at Georgetown in August.”

Oh, damn. American and Georgetown were bitter rivals - and Bellamy had definitely felt the animosity during his undergrad.

“Well, I hope you’re okay with being second best,” he says, and before she can retort he follows up with, “what are you studying?”

“Pre-med,” she says too quickly, and then, after a pause: “...and art.”

He raises an eyebrow and she shakes her hand, “It’s complicated. My mom-”

“Clarke?”

Clarke looks up at the voice behind him and he turns too, to see a stern looking woman staring down at them.

Bellamy recognizes who it is and all he can think is: _oh, shit._

“Mom?”

_Ohhhh shit._

Clarke had said her mom worked here; she had failed to clarify though, that her mom was the freaking _Senate Majority Leader_.

“What are you doing out here?” Senator - what was the name again? - Griffin asks, “You’re supposed to be sitting in on the Senate Health Committee.”

_Clarke. Clarke Griffin. Daughter of the Senate Majority Leader Griffin._

Bellamy was very, very aware of the Senator’s eyes on him - particularly on his coffee stained shirt and his National Parks name tag.

“I’m just having coffee with a friend, Mom.”

“Well,” Senator Griffin says through thin lips, “We need to go if we’re going to make it to the Kane’s for dinner.”

_Kane…_

_Vice President Kane?_

_“Oh shit”_ didn’t even cover it.

“I’ll catch up.” The tone Clarke has with her mother - _a senator!_ \- actually scares Bellamy, like it really does.

Clarke’s mom - _A! Senator! -_ gives him one last look that’s a mixture of concern and disdain before walking off after saying: “Don’t be long.”

Clarke huffs when her mom - _THE_ SENATOR - is out of earshot. “Sorry about that,” she says and tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear, “she has a very strong presence.” Clarke looks over her shoulder and can see her mom still at the end of the hall, looking at them. She turns back to him, “Are you working tomorrow?” she asks.

Bellamy is still a bit stunned so all he can manage is a shake of his head: tomorrow’s his day off.

“Are you busy?”

He shakes his head again.

“Well, how do you feel about being my personal tour guide of the National Mall tomorrow?”

And at that, he _can_ respond: “Haven’t been on twenty of them already?”

She smirks at him, and damn, is it attractive. “There’s only one thing I’ll  _really_  be paying attention to.” He blushes when he catches her meaning.

“I’ll meet you out front, tomorrow at eleven,” she laughs, and then gives him a quick kiss on her cheek before dashing off down the hall.

He sits there for a moment with his hand resting on his cheek that’s still warm from her lips. He knows he should get back to his tour group (a tour group that has been in that chamber way too long, but at least they aren’t being disruptive).

He stands up to throw away his cup when he sees something written on the side. It’s a phone number, and at first when he sees it he thinks it’s the baristas meant for Clarke, but he pulls off the sleeve to see a message in an elegant scrawl:

_Call me – C.G._

He’s smiling the rest of the day.

* * *

_It’s Bellamy,_ he texted her promptly at 10:50 am. He’d been there in front of the Capital Building since 10:30 and he hadn’t seen her yet.

Last night he had plugged her number into his phone and stared at it for a while wondering if he should text or call her, but he decided against it. He was going to see her that next morning, and he didn’t want to screw things up before then.

His phone buzzes at it’s from her – but it’s not a text it’s a picture and he turns around when he realizes it’s the back of his head.

She’s even more beautiful in casual clothes.

“Glad to see you aren’t wearing a coffee stained shirt.”

“The day is still young.”

He sticks out his arm for her and they head in the direction of the mall. He asks how the dinner with the freaking Vice President went and she had responded with  _“same old same old_.”

Was Clarke Griffin even _real_?

When they get to the museums he tries to lead towards the National Museum of the American Indian, but she tugs his arm towards the other end of the mall.

“Hey, I thought I was supposed to be giving the tour?” he asks, amusedly.

She shrugs her shoulders, “Well, it’s my turn now.”

She leads him into the National Art Gallery, and he freaks out when he sees the sign for the “Greco-Roman Origin Myths” exhibit. He’s kind of ashamed now to admit that he had never really been in this museum before.

Clarke clearly has though, loads of times.

“They don’t question my loitering here,” was what she said on the matter.

She led him around the gallery – thankfully, through the Greco-Roman part first, because that was awesome – and pointed out the different pieces. She talked about the different paintings and sculptures and just art in general with such a passion Bellamy felt proud inside. Is this what talking to him about history was like?

“You know,” he whispered, as they walked through a wing of Flemish paintings, “I don’t know how you feel about medicine, but it seems to me like you really got a knack for this art thing.”

She blushes and goes through the motion of tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Like I said: it’s complicated.”

He wants to give her words of encouragement because he knows – for the most part – what she’s going through. He almost majored in something else - something with much more financially secure career prospects – when he’d be much better knee deep in historical texts. It wasn’t until his sister had knocked some sense into him that he had stuck to what he loved. He was happy. He wanted Clarke to be happy too.

“Oh, this one is one of my favorites.” He pulls her along to this large painting of a city from the view of the underside of a bridge, “It’s Blue Morning by George Bellows…” she goes off and Bellamy’s lost in her words as she talks about the oils and shades and how the artist captured the essence of a foggy morning perfectly.

She mentions that the shade of blue the artist used in the fog next to the man sitting on the fence is one of her favorite colors.

Bellamy notices that it’s nearly the same color as her eyes.

(It becomes of his favorite color too).

After they’ve gone through the gallery, he takes hold of the tour again and they hit up the Natural and American history museums. He knows she's been there before so he doesn't go full on nerd mode, but he still gives little tidbits about things that he thinks she'll enjoy. And the way he has her laughing, he's certain she's enjoying it.

They mostly talk about themselves though - where they went to high school, where they're from. And even though she's starting college here in DC in the fall, it's still comforting to know that her mother represents Virginia. She talks about how her Dad (Bellamy notices it's all in past tense, but he doesn't ask), and about her friend Wells - which has Bellamy freaking out because she's just so casual about being best friends with the President's son? And by extension being on comfortable terms with the President himself?

Bellamy tells her about his little sister. She's starting in the fall too, only she's heading up north to Maryland, to Goucher College, a small liberal arts school outside of Baltimore. Clarke asks what Octavia is studying but he says she has no idea. She wants to do it all.

It's nearly three o'clock in the afternoon when they both realize they haven't eaten. They quickly grab something from of the food trucks that line the Mall and he leads her to the Tidal Basin. There's this spot he particularly likes near the Roosevelt Memorial.

They eat their beautiful, beautiful falafel filled burritos with their feet dangling over the edge. There's a few ducks that keep skirting near them, hoping for a bite, but neither are willing to share their food.

"I think that's what heaven tastes like," Clarke says after swallowing her final bite.

Bellamy laughs and notices that there's some sauce on the corner of her mouth. He takes his thumb and brushes it away, his thumb lingering on her face.

Her eyes are outshining the sun right now.

"I had a really great time today, Bellamy," she says, never breaking eye contact.

"Me too," he replies, and his hand moves so that it's cupping my face. He can feel his heart thumping, ready to jump out of his chest.

"So..." she says, her mouth going into the perfect little 'O,' "are you going to kiss me, or what? Because if you had your work tie on right now, I would have pulled you towards me already-"

He crushes his lips down onto hers and she tastes like heaven (and Bellamy swears that it could not be just the falafel burritos they had both just ate).

When they finally broke apart, they sat with their foreheads pressed together, breathing heavily. Clarke was smiling, her hand trailing circles on his lower back.

"You know," he says, finally, blissfully, "there are no tours on Sundays."

"Well, no _public_ tours at least."

"I'm sure I could squeeze you in for a private tour somewhere."

"I really hope that's an innuendo you're making."

Only one date and Bellamy Blake was half in love already.

(Clarke was too, but he wouldn't know that, yet).

**Author's Note:**

> here's a link to the painting that Clarke was talking about: http://www.nga.gov/content/ngaweb/Collection/art-object-page.46557.html  
> Also I've been thinking of expanding this a little more so let me know if that's something I should do!  
> \---  
> come hang out over on [tumblr](http://bellakeyblake.tumblr.com)!


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